Sherlolly OTP Challenge
by vicarwithableedingface
Summary: My attempt at the OTP challenge with the pairing of Sherlock and Molly.
1. Holding Hands

_**A/N: Hello all, and welcome to my attempt at the 30 day OTP challenge. I will be using the Sherlock/Molly pairing :) However, due to exams, it won't actually be over 30 consecutive days, rather just whenever I have time, but I will aim to complete it by summer. **_

_**I aim to keep this chronological, and so the first prompt starts with an unestablished relationship.**_

_**Thanks for reading, please leave a review :)**_

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"It's fine John, you should go home and get some sleep. You've been here for over five hours," Molly said, raising her voice over his protestations.

It was the day after the shooting at Magnussen's office. Sherlock had not yet woken after being operated on, and John seemed determined to stay until he did. Mary had fallen asleep in a chair in the corridor, and Molly was now arguing on her behalf for John and Mary to return home, whilst Molly stayed at the hospital.

Finally, John seemed to concede. "Ok, but you have to phone me as soon as he wakes up," he said, before giving Molly a hug. "Thanks for staying Molls."

An hour later, Molly was sat in a plastic chair next to Sherlock, who remained unconscious, hooked up to a morphine drip. "Oh, Sherlock, why do you always have to get into these situations?" Molly murmured, brushing a stray black curl from his forehead. Seeing Sherlock look so vulnerable made her feel helpless, and reminded her of when he came to her for help to defeat Moriarty.

Taking his hand, almost to comfort herself, Molly pulled her chair closer to the bed. She thought back to that day, when Sherlock 'died.'

"_What do you need?"_ she had asked. _"You,"_ had been the simple reply, and she had known then and there that she would do anything for her consulting detective, no matter how ridiculous or dangerous it seemed. She only wished she could be of more help now, able to do more than just sit and wait.

As the hours passed, Molly found herself struggling to stay awake, and gradually succumbed to the exhaustion that washed over her.

Later that day, as the sun began to set, Sherlock woke, squinting as he adjusted to his surroundings. Still drowsy from the morphine drip, several half-formed deductions passed through his brain. "_Additional weight...warm left hand...hair in face,_" he thought, attempting to process his current situation. As his thoughts came into focus, and he fully awoke, he made the surprisingly pleasant deduction that Molly Hooper was lying across him, asleep, her petite hand in his.

Unwilling to wake her and end this encounter, Sherlock gently shifted in an attempt to be able to better gaze at his pathologist in the fading light. Suddenly, a burst of pain shot across his chest, causing him to flinch, waking the pathologist with a start.

"Sherlock? I'm so sorry! I – I must've fallen asleep!" she began to stutter, a deep red blush spreading across her cheeks as she went to move back from the bed. Before she could, however, his hand tightened around hers. "Don't," Sherlock said, gently squeezing her hand to reassure her. Then, his uncharacteristic display of affection seemed to fully register with him. "I mean, please remain as you were. I found it, um, acceptable," he said, a hint of blush beginning to colour his cheekbones.

Smiling, his confession seeming to embolden her, Molly shuffled closer to the bed again, her hand still in Sherlock's. "So did I," she said, kissing him lightly, and snuggling closer to him.

And that was how John came to find them two hours later, both asleep, hands still entwined.


	2. Cuddling Somewhere

_**A/N: Thank you for the lovely review 'shepweir always', and everyone else for all the follows! The prompt for this one is 'Cuddling Somewhere' Please read and review! :)**_

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When Molly woke, she found herself uncomfortably aware of the emptiness of her flat, and the space on the sofa next to her. "Sherlock?" she called out tentatively, hoping that her fears would not be confirmed.

Receiving no reply, she threw back the blanket that he must have placed over her when she fell asleep last night, and ventured into the kitchen, almost hoping that he would be experimenting on Toby, as at least then he would still be there.

But the kitchen was empty, and she sagged against the counter, feeling drained. He had left without saying goodbye, and she wouldn't see him for another six months.

_The previous night, Sherlock had arrived at her flat, hair windswept and coat collar turned up against the cold and rain. She had been taken by surprise, and simply allowed him in. _

_She had barely spoken to him since they had woken to John's shocked laughter at the hospital. Over the past months, their relationship had been awkward, as they avoided each other as much as was possible, only communicating to arrange autopsies and exchange the occasional limb._

_He had barely acknowledged her, and had stalked through to the living room, where he had stood waiting for her to close the door and follow him._

_As she entered the room, about to ask him what on earth he was doing at her flat at ten o' clock at night, he had taken two long strides across the room and kissed her, his hands running through her hair, tugging her towards him. With making a conscious decision to do so, she had kissed him back._

_Suddenly, she became aware of what was happening, and broke away, gasping. "What the hell was that?" she yelled, staring at him, not quite believing that this wasn't all some strange dream. "A goodbye," he replied, looking slightly offended._

"_A goodbye?"_

"_Yes. Mycroft is sending me away. Can't have your little brother going round murdering people, can you?"_

"_He can't do that, you're his brother! John told me what had happened; you saved the country from a psychopath. And you're not a murderer!" Molly said indignantly._

"_Unfortunately, not everyone is as forgiving as you," Sherlock replied. "I am being sent on a six month mission to Eastern Europe. I came here to say goodbye though, not debate my criminal status."_

"_Wait a minute. You ignore me for months, then come in here and kiss me like that, before telling me that you're going away for six months?" Molly frowned, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Sherlock shifted on the spot, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "Only the thought of leaving made me realise how much I value your...companionship. So I came to see you as an experiment of sorts, to see whether my feelings truly had changed," he began. Upon seeing Molly begin to look angry again, he quickly continued. "My experiment had positive results. I...like you very much. To validate my results, I believe that we should kiss again."_

"_I do believe we should," Molly replied, tilting her head back and kissing him. As their lips parted, she spoke. "I will miss you Sherlock, please be safe. I didn't go to all the bother of saving you the first time only for you to go and get yourself killed now," she said teasingly, unaware of the painful accuracy of her words._

_ "I will miss you too, Molly Hooper," Sherlock said severely, before turning to leave, adjusting his scarf. "What are you doing?" Molly replied, and he stopped in his tracks. "You can't just leave like that. Come on, Dr Who starts in ten minutes, we can watch it together. You might even learn something about the solar system!"_

_ Despite some mutterings about "John's stupid blog" and "irrelevant information", Sherlock obliged, hanging his coat in the hallway before joining Molly on the sofa, after she fetched a mug of hot chocolate._

_ Forty minutes later, Molly had buried her face in Sherlock's silky purple shirt, refusing to look at the monster on the screen. "Don't be ridiculous, it's an actor in a prosthetic mask," Sherlock admonished, although he too jumped slightly as another Silence appeared from nowhere._

_ Another twenty minutes passed, and the TV was switched off. Molly tucked her feet up and nestled closer to Sherlock, who gently ran his fingers through her hair, his free arm wrapped around her, keeping her close. As Molly began to doze, her brown eyes covered by lilac eyelids, Sherlock felt a flash of panic at the thought of leaving, never to return._

_ Banishing all thoughts of leaving from his mind palace, he too began to sleep, although his arm remained secure around his pathologist._

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps in the hallway brought Molly back to the present. Arming herself with a rolling pin, she crept towards the door, hoping that she wouldn't have to use the makeshift weapon.

"Molly?" a voice called out. A very familiar voice. "Sherlock!" Molly cried out in relief, placing the cooking utensil back on the side, and rushing towards the hallway. The sight that met her had her in a fit of giggles. Sherlock stood laden down with a full Tesco bag in one hand and a bunch of forget-me-nots and violets in the other.

"Oh, I was hoping that I could prepare your breakfast before you woke," he said, sounding adorably put out. "Here, let me help you," Molly said taking the carrier bag through to the kitchen, and using its contents to make up a light breakfast for them both. As she set it down on the dining table, Sherlock presented her with the bouquet. "These are for you," he stated, holding them out.

"Oh thank you Sherlock, they're beautiful!" she exclaimed, taking them gently and placing them in an empty vase that stood conveniently in the middle of the table.

It was only after he had left her, kissing her lightly that she thought more about the meaning behind the flowers. '_Remember me forever'_ and '_faithfulness_.' "Oh Sherlock," she gasped quietly, holding back the tears that threatened to flow.


	3. GamingWatching a Movie

_**A/N: Sorry for the gap between updates, as I said I have exams :( Thanks for the reviews/follows!**_

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It had been a mere forty eight hours at most since Sherlock Holmes had left her flat, yet Molly already found herself missing the consulting detective. Outside, delicate white flakes were swirling in the wind, but rather than seeming beautiful, they served to remind Molly of the freezing conditions in Eastern Europe, hence her intense concentration on the autopsy she was currently finishing.

"Molly Hooper." The deep baritone voice echoed through the morgue. Molly looked up from the corpse of Mrs Paula Andrews, and wondered if working such long hours was finally beginning to affect her. "Sherlock? It can't be you – you're in Russia or somewhere!"

"My dear Molly, your deductive technique really does need some work, doesn't it? I am quite clearly not in Russia or somewhere as you so eloquently put it, but in fact here at St Bart's," Sherlock replied with a raised eyebrow, although his usual sarcastic tone was accompanied by the hint of a genuine smile.

Suddenly, the reality that Sherlock was standing in front of her, in the morgue, Belstaff and all, seemed to hit her, and Molly rushed towards him, enveloping him in a hug that smelt of cats and flowery perfume.

Then she pulled away. "I should, um, finish up with Mrs Andrews, and then maybe we could – if you want to – "

"Molly," Sherlock murmured, silencing her nervous chatter. "I shall help you clean up, and then you may accompany me to 221B if you wish, where I promise to explain the events of the past few days to you."

Molly smiled at Sherlock gratefully. "Thank you, that would be good."

And so it was that an hour later, Molly sat curled in John's old armchair, opposite Sherlock, who had just finished explaining how Mycroft had faked Moriarty's return to ensure that Sherlock was not exiled. "I knew Mycroft wouldn't do that to you!" she exclaimed, although truth be told, she was never quite sure with Sherlock's mysterious older brother. All of a sudden, she noticed the clock, which read 11:24pm. "Oh – I've just seen what time it is! I really should be going – sorry for staying so long!"

"Don't be ridiculous Molly," Sherlock interrupted, "I was the one who invited you here, and spoke for an hour."

"Even so, I should be going," she said, pulling her coat on.

Sherlock stood, waiting for his pathologist to finish wrapping her pink fluffy scarf around her neck, before following her to the door. He was about to say goodbye, when she opened the door, or at least attempted to. "Ah, it seems the weather has different plans to us," he said, gesturing to the three foot snowfall that was now preventing the door from opening fully. "You'll have to stay the night." At this, Molly blushed, and Sherlock seemed to realise the unintentional meaning behind his words. "I mean, you may sleep in my bed tonight." Molly giggled as Sherlock realised that his second attempt was if anything worse. "I know what you mean Sherlock, thank you for the offer. I don't think I have much choice anyway," she said with a smile.

They made their way upstairs, and Molly was supplied with an old, over-sized jumper which Sherlock retrieved from John's old room. After excusing herself to the bathroom to change, she entered the living room, finding Sherlock frantically searching for something, his back to her. "Sherlock?" she asked, curious towards the cause of his behaviour. Jumping, he turned towards her. "I, um, I had an idea. I have deduced that you do not sleep for long periods of time, and neither do I, so I propose that we watch a film, to avoid any awkward silences."

"That's a great idea Sherlock," she said, smiling inwardly at his adorable awkwardness. "What DVDs do you have?"

"Several physics documentaries, a recording of a nature programme, and multiple chemistry lectures," he replied, not seeming to realise that they were not really Molly's cup of tea.

"No rom coms, then?" Molly asked, almost teasingly.

"Personally, no, but John did used to keep a few for when he brought his numerous girlfriends over," he replied, turning towards another shelf. "Here they are, 'Love Actually', 'The Proposal' and 'I Give It a Year'."

"What about Love Actually?" she said, thinking of the cute actor who played John.

"I suppose so, if we must," Sherlock sighed, taking the disc out.

Half way through the film, Molly turned to Sherlock, interrupting his criticism of the "unrealistic nature of this piece of cinematic rubbish" and said "Are you really that opposed to romance?"

"Sentiment is a – "  
"Chemical defect" Molly finished his sentence, with a sigh. "Never mind."

"Molly," Sherlock said, taking her hand. "I was actually going to say, sentiment is a feeling that I only recently discovered, when I thought I would never see you again. It was what caused me to kiss you, and what continues to make me want to kiss you." Before he could continue his speech on sentiment, Molly pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Do you still want to kiss me?"

"Most definitely, Miss Hooper," he replied, a lazy smile stretching across his face. "I suppose this makes you my...girlfriend. Although I detest that term, I am willing to make an exception for you."

The following morning, Mrs Hudson brought Sherlock his 'morning cuppa' only to find that another would be necessary, as on the sofa were Sherlock and Molly, clearly having fallen asleep part way through a film as the TV remained on, the menu for 'Love Actually' on the screen. "Good morning dears!" she said brightly, thrilled that Sherlock had finally found a replacement for John. "Oh, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock muttered, squinting up at his housekeeper, sorry, landlady. "This is Molly Hooper, my pathologist... and girlfriend."


	4. On a Date

**A/N: Hi all! Just wanted to say a massive thanks for all the views, reviews and follows! The prompt is 'On a Date'. Please read and review! :)**

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**Where r u? - Molls xx**

**Double murder. SH**

Staring at the blunt reply, Molly felt a surge of anger. She had been sitting in the cafe for over twenty minutes, waiting for Sherlock. It was their second date since they had officially entered into a relationship, or at least, it was supposed to be. Avoiding the pitying gaze of the waitress, Molly got up to leave, firing off a quick message to Mary Watson as she did so.

**Sherlock stood me up :( - Molly**

A few minutes later, as Molly walked down the street, head down against the wind, her phone began to ring, playing a cherry ring tone that jarred against her current mood. "Hello Mary," she answered. "I take it you got my text?"

"Yeah, Sherlock can be so stupid sometimes for someone so clever," Mary replied, although she didn't sound as cross as Molly felt. "Remember though, John left me half way through our anniversary dinner to go chasing a serial killer, so I'll tell you now, you should probably get used to this kind of thing." Then, she hastily added, "Not that that excuses his behaviour, so feel free to slap him when you see him."

"Don't worry, I will," Molly replied, allowing herself to smile at the thought. "I'll let you go; I can hear Emma starting to cry." A wail from the Watson baby drowned out Mary's goodbyes, and then she hung up.

Meanwhile, on the other side of London, Sherlock was just finishing announcing his deductions to the members of New Scotland Yard. "...And so, the murderer was in fact Browner, who sent the ear in the box to – oh, damn!"

"Sherlock?" Greg queried, confused at the sudden change in Sherlock's thought process.

"I was supposed to be meeting Molly for lunch!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Gethin! Why didn't you remind me?"

"Firstly, my name is Greg, and secondly, I didn't even know you were dating Molly!" Greg replied, stunned at the revelation that Sherlock-bloody-Holmes had a girlfriend.

"Well then, what about you?" Sherlock said, rounding on John.

"Mate, this one's on you," John replied, holding up his hands. "If I were you, I'd go find her and grovel for forgiveness." Before he had finished speaking, Sherlock had already left the terraced house, and was on the street. Hailing a cab, he gave the name of the cafe where he was supposed to be meeting Molly, and prayed that she would still be there.

Twenty minutes of traffic later, and Sherlock found himself at the cafe, asking the waitress if she had seen a woman fitting Molly's description. "Yeah, she left about thirty minutes ago. Didn't look too happy," she said. "Hey, aren't you that detective bloke?"

"Yes, I am Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, and thank you for your help," he replied distractedly, turning on his heel, coat sweeping behind him.

**Molly already left. What do I do? – SH**

**I wouldn't go to her flat mate, she's probably mad as anything! John**

Molly was indeed, 'mad as anything.' Fuming, she had returned to her flat, kicking her shoes into a corner, and throwing her coat at the sofa, narrowly avoiding Toby, who was curled in her usual seat. "I am not going to mope about feeling sorry for myself!" Molly thought, determined to show Sherlock Holmes that he was not the be all and end all.

Pushing all thoughts of Sherlock to the back of her mind, she remembered Meena, her assistant, mentioning a girl's night out that evening. Normally not one for parties or loud music, Molly had turned down her invite, but now found herself reconsidering.

After showering, Molly dressed in _that_ dress, then styled her hair, allowing it to fall in gentle waves down her back, before applying a subtle layer of make-up. She was just doing up her strappy heels when the doorbell rang. Not expecting anyone, Molly finished doing up her shoes and made her way carefully to the door.

The surprise that greeted her when she opened the door was a pleasant one. A smartly dressed man stood before her, holding a bunch of red roses. "Miss Hooper?" he asked, presenting her with the beautiful bouquet. "Yes?" she replied, spotting the waiting black limo, and wondering whether Mycroft was becoming politer in his kidnappings. "Please come with me. I'm under strict orders not to tell you anything," the chauffeur said, smiling at her.

Sighing, she complied, and slid into the car, holding the flowers and her clutch. The drive was a short one, and she soon felt the car pull to a stop. Looking out of the window, she saw that the car had stopped at 221B. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to smile, as she realised what was happening.

The chauffeur helped her out of the car and escorted her up the steps, where the door was unlocked, and he left her alone. Slowly, she climbed the stairs, which had been scattered with rose petals, feeling herself forgiving Sherlock with every step.

Reaching the top, she heard violin music gently filling the air, and stepped into the living room of 221B. Sherlock stood before her in his usual attire of black trousers and a purple satin shirt. Turning to face her, his expression turned to one of wonderment and joy. There was a pause before he spoke, as he admired her, then he said hesitantly, "My dear Molly. Please forgive me. I was...inconsiderate today. I most definitely do not deserve to call you my girlfriend, and I will understand if you wish to end our mutual arrangement."

"I most certainly do not wish to end our 'mutual arrangement' Sherlock," Molly replied, smiling mercifully at him. "I am annoyed that you forgot, but you have more than made up for it." He visibly breathed a sigh of relief, then said, "Well then, dinner is ready," gesturing to the table, which was for once clear of body parts, laboratory equipment and chemicals.

As they finished dinner, Molly decided to ask a question. "You didn't by any chance call in a favour from Mycroft for tonight, did you?"

"I borrowed one of his cars, if that's what you mean," Sherlock said, unwilling to admit that he had needed help from his big brother. Knowing how much it had taken for him to ask Mycroft for a favour, Molly beamed, reaching across the table and squeezing Sherlock's hand. "Thank you for tonight. This has been a lovely date."

"It was my pleasure," Sherlock replied. "Now that we are both finished eating, I would like you to accompany me to the roof."

"I will, so long as you promise to remain safely on top of it," Molly smiled, getting up from the table.

Once they had both wrapped themselves in coats and scarves, they climbed up to the roof terrace, where Sherlock had set out a blanket with cushions and pillows. "Oh, wow," Molly breathed, looking at the view over London as she seated herself on the blanket, leaning against Sherlock. "I have organised something to make the view a little more special," Sherlock said, looking at his watch. "It should begin in approximately ten seconds." Curious, Molly snuggled closer to Sherlock, gazing expectantly at the dark, night skyline of London. Suddenly, there was a whistling noise, and a trail of gold blazed upwards, ending with a loud bang as the firework exploded, printing glittering patterns onto the canvas of the sky.

The fireworks continued for a further ten minutes, culminating in a firework that seemed to engulf the sky, illuminating the city. "That was for me?" Molly asked, staring at Sherlock in awe.

"Of course. I am not a particular fan of fireworks, but I deduced that you were, so I reached out to my homeless network," he replied, then kissed Molly, allowing the fireworks to replay in her mind.


	5. Kissing

_**A/N: The prompt for this one is kissing, so here be fluff! As always, thanks for the support :)**_

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From the pavement outside Baker Street, twinkling lights could be seen in the window of apartment 221B, and the sounds of laughter and voices floated down towards where Molly stood in the gently falling snow, thinking about how much had changed since _that_ Christmas.

Since then, she had helped a man fake his own death, become engaged to different man, broken up with said fiancé, and found herself falling in love with the man she had saved.

Smiling to herself at the turn of events that had led to this point, she rang the bell, and waited patiently, hearing footsteps coming down the stairs. Mrs Hudson opened the door, ushering Molly inside before she "gave herself pneumonia, being outside in that weather." Since Sherlock and Molly had made their relationship public, Mrs Hudson had treated Molly like the daughter she never had, fussing over her, and ensuring that she was always welcome at Baker Street.

They made their way upstairs, towards the sounds of a lively party. 221B was full to bursting, the relatively small apartment currently occupied by John and Mary, their baby daughter Emma, Mycroft and Anthea (who was most definitely not his goldfish, according to Mycroft, although the way she was currently sitting rather close to him suggested otherwise), Lestrade, Mr and Mrs Holmes, and, of course, Sherlock himself.

Stepping into the room, Molly felt Sherlock's attention being drawn to her immediately, his breath hitching in his throat as he took in every inch of her. "Hi everyone!" she said warmly, smiling at them all. A chorus of replies filled the air, and then they returned to their individual conversations, whilst Molly made her way over to where Sherlock was sat in his armchair, violin resting against its side. "Hello," she grinned, bending over and kissing him lightly on the lips, before straightening up, aware that he was not comfortable with public displays of affection. "You look...stunning, Molly Hooper," Sherlock said, a smile spreading across his face, "We could always jump ship, and return to your apartment? I'm sure my lack of festive cheer will not be missed." Molly raised an eyebrow, although smiled whilst doing so. "Much as that doesn't sound at all like a bad plan, I think the point of attending a Christmas Eve party is not to promptly disappear. Come on, I haven't spoken to your parents in ages, let's go and see them," she replied, waiting for him to grumble and stand up before crossing the room to where Violet and Siger Holmes sat on the sofa.

A bit over an hour later, the room quietened down as everyone gathered around to exchange gifts. It had been agreed that with Emma still being very young, and the drama of the previous Christmas, they would meet on Christmas Eve, and give out presents, before enjoying Christmas Day quietly and separately.

Emma's present were dealt with first, as she had received a small mountain of them, from everyone from her parents to Mycroft. Afterwards, as she sat playing happily with the wrapping paper, the adults swapped gifts. Without any warning, Sherlock threw a small parcel across the room to Mycroft, who turned from thanking Mrs Hudson for his new tie pin to be hit squarely in the nose with it. Frowning, Mycroft picked up the package. "I see domesticity is softening you, brother mine," he said, attempting to deduce its contents. Giving up, as Sherlock had been careful to keep it a surprise, he opened the packaging, and sighed at what he found. Upon seeing the packet of hair dye which promised to "get rid of grey hairs", Molly narrowed her eyes at Sherlock. "When I told you to get your brother something for Christmas, I meant something thoughtful," she said, her tone disapproving. "Don't worry, Miss Hooper, I am quite used to my brother's jibes by now," Mycroft replied, attempting to be mature.

The rest of the gifts Sherlock had given out appeared to be equally immature. These included a shaving set for John, a book on gun safety for Mary, and a 'Dummy's Guide to Deductions' for Greg, written by Sherlock himself. Molly had lost all hope of receiving a thoughtful gift from Sherlock, when he passed her a small wrapped box, rather than chucking it to her as he had with the others.

Opening it carefully, and slightly warily, Molly found a jewellery box inside. Opening it, she found a beautiful silver hair pin, simply decorated with a single emerald. "It's beautiful!" she exclaimed, leaning over to Sherlock and kissing him, causing him to blush as Lestrade winked at him. "I have your gift here," she said, turning and picking up a gift bag that she had kept safe all evening, handing it to him.

Curious, Sherlock removed the tissue paper, and pulled out his present. Before Sherlock could say anything, Mrs Hudson interrupted. "For goodness sake, another skull? He doesn't even dust the other one!" For the object that Sherlock now held was indeed a skull. Molly looked apologetic, and decided she should probably explain the rather strange gift. "Well, I thought that seeing as Sherlock doesn't talk to him anymore, Billy could do with some company. I got this one online. She's called Katie." Ignoring the surprised, and slightly concerned looks from the others, Sherlock replied with a grin across his face, "She's wonderful! Thank you Molly!"

The rest of the evening was less unusual, as the adults cooed over Emma, chatted, and had a few drinks. At about eleven o' clock, Emma began to get restless, so John and Mary said goodbye, and Lestrade, who was getting a lift from them, also left. It wasn't long before Mrs Hudson headed downstairs, citing the need to go and take her 'herbal soothers'. Within half an hour of John and Mary leaving, the apartment was empty apart from Sherlock and Molly, who were sat on the sofa, her heels discarded, feet resting on Sherlock's lap, as they enjoyed the peace and quiet.

Finally, Molly made the move to leave, standing up and putting her shoes back on. Having put her coat on, she turned around to say goodbye to Sherlock, and found him holding her new hair pin. "You forgot something," he smiled, sliding the pin into her curls. Looking up at Sherlock, Molly felt herself melting. Then, she noticed something. "You put up mistletoe?" she grinned mischievously, knowing full well that it had probably been Mrs Hudson. "No," Sherlock replied, confused by the sudden change of topic. "Do you know what that means?" Molly said, smiling even wider. "You have to kiss me."

"Do I really?" Sherlock said, smirking as he understood. As he leant towards her, slowly wrapping his arms around her, the clock struck twelve. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper," he whispered, and his lips met with hers.

The following morning, a trail of discarded shoes and clothing could be found from the living room to the closed door of Sherlock's bedroom. Inside, Molly stirred, and slowly opened her eyes, meeting Sherlock's. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes," she whispered, realising that this was already the best Christmas she had ever had, and it was only six in the morning. She told him this, and he replied, "I think I may be able to make it better. Molly, would you like to live at 221B?"

"Yes!" she giggled, "Although we should probably check with Mrs Hudson first."

"I think we can let her sleep a little longer before we go and ask," Sherlock said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and leaning in to kiss his new flatmate.


	6. Wearing Each Others' Clothes

_**A/N: Thank you so much for all the follows, favourites and reviews! I can't believe that this has had over 4000 views! The prompt is 'Wearing Each Others' Clothes'. Please read and leave me a review to let me know what you think :)**_

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Molly was sat outside Lestrade's office, waiting for Sherlock to finish impressing everyone with how he had deduced the identity of the serial killer who had just been arrested. It wasn't that she minded waiting for him, or even that the impromptu chase after the killer had interrupted their date. It was the fact that coming to Scotland Yard inevitably meant facing the sneers of Sally Donovan, who had not changed her ways like Anderson had.

Circling like a shark that had smelt fresh blood, Donovan approached, closing in on Molly. "Still hanging around with the Freak?" she said, smirking as Molly flushed bright red. "I'll take that as a yes. I wouldn't worry though, won't be long before he gets bored."

"Please leave me alone," Molly pleaded, not meeting Donovan's eyes, praying that Sherlock would appear to save her, as she tended to avoid insulting Molly in front of him. "Why? Scared I'm right? Or maybe you're just as much of a freak as he is." She paused for a moment, seeming to consider what other cruel taunt would hurt the most. Then, very deliberately, she said, "I heard that you weren't one of Moriarty's targets. Guess you weren't important enough to matter."

At this, Molly bit back a sob, and stood up, walking away as quickly as possible. "Hit a nerve, did I?" Donovan called out after her, and upon receiving no reply, went back to what she was doing. It was another ten minutes before the door of Lestrade's office opened. Sherlock, John and Lestrade stepped out, and Sherlock turned to where Molly had been sat.

When he couldn't find her, he scanned the room, and spotted a smug looking Donovan by the water cooler. "Donovan..." he growled under his breath, his eyes narrowing. When she saw them staring at her, Donovan crossed the room, grinning. "What did you do to Molly?" Sherlock said, radiating anger.

"I just pointed out some facts that she didn't seem to like," she replied, before returning to her desk, impervious to Sherlock's glare.

"I'm going after Molly, it must have been bad, she normally doesn't react to Donovan," Sherlock said to the others, flicking his coat collar up before striding out of the room, his coat swirling behind him. "I really wouldn't want to be Donovan right now," John muttered to Lestrade as Sherlock left, looking concerned.

A few streets away, Molly was already soaked through to her skin in the pouring rain, shivering as she headed towards her destination, feeling anxious and upset, cursing Donovan and her own stupid doubts as she walked. "What if she's right?" said the little voice in the back of her mind. "What is this is all some sort of experiment?"

"Shut up!" Molly yelled out loud, to the bewilderment of an elderly couple who were passing her. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean you!" Molly said, as they began to argue with her, before continuing on her way.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was tearing through the rain, with a clear idea of where Molly was headed. Whenever she got upset, she would visit her father's grave, so she had probably gone there now, a place about thirty minutes from Scotland Yard. Normally, he would have let her go, as she seemed to want time alone. However, the rain was falling heavily, and the wind was howling, whilst Molly only had a cardigan and a scarf with her. If he didn't find her soon, she'd make herself ill from the cold and wet weather.

It took Molly a further ten minutes to reach the graveyard, by which point she was almost numb from the cold, and her shivering had become out of control. Curling up next to the marble gravestone, she gradually regained some calm, slowing the tears and her breathing. Suddenly, she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, and she looked up to find Sherlock crouching next to her, an expression of concern on his face.

"Molly?" he said hesitantly, unsure of how to deal with the crying woman. She didn't respond, refusing to meet his eyes, making herself seem as small as possible. Realising that she wasn't ready to explain exactly what had happened at Scotland Yard, or leave, he slowly removed his Belstaff and draped it around her petite frame, allowing the rain to soak his satin shirt.

Molly made a weak attempt to protest, but Sherlock refused to take it back. Five more minutes passed, and then Molly got to her feet, still shivering despite the coat. "Let's go home, you m-must be free-freezing," she said to Sherlock, her teeth chattering. Feeling guilty about having taken his coat, she took off the pink fluffy scarf that she was wearing, and tied it around Sherlock's neck. Hiding his inner disgust at the offending item, Sherlock gave Molly's shoulders a quick squeeze, then attempted to hail a cab.

Luck didn't seem to be on their side, with Sherlock grumbling about "of all the times" and "how many of them owe me a favour?" as multiple cabs passed them by without stopping, one even splashing them as it drove through a puddle. Eventually, they gave up, trekking across London, the rain continuing to pour.

It took them almost an hour to arrive at 221B, by which point their lips had turned blue, and their hair was dripping wet. Mrs Hudson opened the door to them, and immediately told them to go and take a hot shower, whilst she prepared hot drinks for them both, although she couldn't help but giggle at the pink thing that adorned Sherlock's neck.

Once they had both showered, they changed into warm pyjamas and slippers, and huddled together on the sofa, covered by blankets brought up by Mrs Hudson. Sherlock let Molly finish drinking her hot chocolate before speaking. "Molly, now that we are both dry and you have calmed down, could you tell me what exactly Donovan said that upset you so much?"

Molly took a deep breath before answering. "It's going to sound really silly and petty, but she said that, well, that I didn't matter enough to you for Moriarty to threaten me." Having said it out loud, it sounded even more stupid, she thought, preparing for the worst. Instead, Sherlock's looked surprised, as if he hadn't even considered the possibility that Molly might have thought she wasn't important to him. He spoke in a rush, keen to allay her fears. "Molly Hooper, don't ever let anyone tell you that you aren't important to me. You are. I love you Molly, and just because Moriarty couldn't see that doesn't mean it isn't true. So if she ever says anything like that again, I will personally see to it that she loses her job, as she is clearly incompetent at deducing anything. And – Molly, what's wrong? What did I say?" Sherlock paused in the middle of his speech, realising that she was no longer listening properly.

"You said that you loved me," Molly said, looking stunned.

"Of course, I thought that was obvious. I understand if you don't feel the same w – " Sherlock replied, seeming worried that he had done something wrong.

Molly interrupted him before he could continue. "Sherlock, I love you too." A grin spread across his face.

Suddenly, a squeak was heard through the door, sounding suspiciously like Mrs Hudson, who had apparently been eavesdropping the entire time. Winking at Molly, Sherlock innocently called out, "Mrs Hudson?" after which footsteps could be heard hurrying down the stairs.

"Sherlock, don't tease," Molly scolded him, or at least began to, as he suddenly pressed his lips to hers, making it quite impossible for her to continue.


	7. Cosplaying

**_A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews, favourites etc. I know this is a bit short, but at least I've managed two consecutive days! :)_**

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"Oh, you all look fantastic!" Mrs Hudson gushed, "I must get a photo!" Sherlock went to protest, but Molly gave him a sharp dig with her elbow. It was seven in the evening, and Sherlock, Molly, Mary and John were gathered at 221B, ready to depart for the party at Scotland Yard. Sherlock wasn't keen on social events of any sort, but this one was particularly bad. It was a fancy dress party.

When Greg had invited them, Sherlock had flat-out refused, but then when Greg had forwarded the invite to Molly, she had decided that it would be fun, and had set about planning a group theme with Mary, much to Sherlock's disgust - John having long ago accepted that there was no arguing with Mary when she set her mind to something.

As a result, the five of them (John and Mary were taking Emma) now resembled the Scooby Doo gang. Mary was dressed as Daphne, John as Shaggy, Molly as Velma and Sherlock as a (very reluctant) Fred. Emma, who now almost 18 months old, was dressed in a onesie that resembled Scooby Doo, which had been declared "adorable" by Molly and "ridiculous" by Sherlock.

Once a photo had been taken, the group stepped outside to where one of Mycroft's cars was waiting for them. It wasn't long before they arrived at the Yard, with Sherlock still whining petulantly.

Before they could step into the function room were the party was being held, they were blinded by a flash of light. When they regained their vision, Greg Lestrade was standing in front of them dressed as Inspector Clouseau and holding a camera, the source of the light. "One for the blog, eh, John?" he said with a grin as Sherlock scowled.

"Yeah, Sherlock in fancy dress certainly isn't something you see every day," John laughed. Whilst the men got into conversation about John's blog, and a recent case, Mary passed John their daughter, and headed towards the dance floor with Molly.

After chatting for about ten minutes, John noticed that his and Sherlock's other halves had left them, and scanned the room for them. Spotting Mary dancing and talking to a young, attractive police officer, he turned to Sherlock. "Is it ok if I leave Emma with you and go and stop my wife chatting up that bloke?" he half-joked, knowing that Mary wouldn't be flirting with anyone else, but unsure whether Sherlock would want to be left with a baby.

"I suppose so," Sherlock sighed dramatically, although he was secretly pleased to have an excuse not to have to dance.

Once John had left, Sherlock found himself gazing at Emma, and imagining what his own child would be like. Obviously it would be intelligent, with Sherlock and Molly for parents, and ideally would have Molly's kind brown eyes and patience, although he rather hoped it would have his curls. Suddenly becoming aware of what he was considering, he became startled, as he had never before even entertained the possibility of children. "Sentiment," he murmured to Emma, rocking her slightly as she stirred.

His contemplation was interrupted by a loud and obnoxious voice. "They let you near the little brat then? Or did you take this one?" Sally Donovan sneered, arms folded, eyebrows raised at the sight of Sherlock holding a baby. She was dressed oddly appropriately, as the Wicked Witch from '_The Wizard of Oz_.' Taking a deep breath, Sherlock restrained from replying, simply humming a nursery rhyme under his breath to stop Emma waking.

Meanwhile, Mary, John and Molly were standing chatting across the room. John was just telling the women a story about the time he found Sherlock doing karaoke in the living room 'for a case' when he looked up and saw Donovan confronting Sherlock. "Oh for God's sake!" he exclaimed, Mary and Molly falling quiet as they looked at where he had been looking. "Can she not leave him alone? At least Anderson seems to regret what he did!"

As Mary, Molly and John made their way over to support Sherlock, Donovan's verbal abuse continued. "Someone told me that you were made the Godfather – bet she turns out to be a freak like you," Donovan said spitefully. At this, Sherlock found he was unable to contain himself any longer. He could ignore her insulting him, but Emma was _not_ a freak. His deep baritone voice cut through what Donovan was saying. "Don't speak like that about her. What kind of pathetic person takes out their frustration at their sad life on a baby? I won't hit you, as you're a woman, but –"

"I will," Molly interrupted, having overheard the end of their conversation as she approached, and with that slapped Donovan across the face. Then, with impeccable timing, Emma emptied the contents of her stomach by projectile vomiting all over Donovan, managing to avoid getting any on herself or Sherlock.

The room fell silent, then someone began to clap, and the various police officers who had witnessed Donovan's constant bullying of Sherlock and Molly filled the room with applause. Donovan scowled at Molly, before leaving the room. Once the applause died down and the party continued minus Donovan, Sherlock beamed at Molly, and Mary clapped her on the back, whilst John took Emma back, proclaiming loudly, "That's my girl!"

Greg came over, and Molly suddenly realised that hitting someone in a room full of police may not have been the best plan. "I know I should be arresting you, or at least giving you a reprimand, but that was absolutely brilliant!" he said, grinning, to Molly's relief. Then, turning to Emma, he said "Who's a clever girl, eh?"

The only thing that managed to top the evening was the next day, when Molly received a text during a postmortem. It simply read:

**Donovan fired. SH**

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_**A/N: I know in the BBC canon, Sherlock likes to dance, but I didn't think he'd be comfortable dancing in front of people he didn't know well.**_


	8. Shopping

_**A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews/follows etc, please keep them coming! :) Sorry that this is a bit short, I promise the next one will be longer!**_

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"Do I have to come?" whined Sherlock, pouting like a five year old.

"Yes," Molly replied sternly, refusing to give in to his puppy-dog eyes. "It is our Goddaughters first birthday, and we need to get her a present."

"But why? She's not old enough to understand that it's her birthday. She'd be happy with a cardboard box!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"That is not the point!" Seeing that his protests were in vain, he sighed deeply and stood.

"You owe me a set of eyeballs," he sulked.

And so it was that two hours later, Molly was cooing over stuffed animals, and baby clothes, whilst Sherlock followed her, absorbed in his mind palace. Suddenly, he was jolted out of it by a tap on his arm. "Sherlock?" Molly tried to get his attention. "I was saying, do you want to go have a look for chemistry texts or something in the book shop downstairs? I can tell you're bored, and I'll meet you in a bit?"

"Thank you!" Sherlock grinned, suddenly cheering up, pecking Molly on the cheek before practically skipping out of the shop glad to escape the hell that was Mothercare.

It took Sherlock precisely eighteen minutes to get kicked out of Waterstones, after a series of insulting deductions when the assistant failed to find him the book he was looking for. Now, he was wandering aimlessly around the centre, wishing that Molly would just choose a present and rescue him from this boredom.

Then a display on his left caught his eye. Almost surprising himself, he entered the shop, and began to browse. Searching through his mind palace, and a specific room, he narrowed down his choices, before spending thirty minutes agonising over which of his two alternatives was the best.

Finally, he left the shop with a small, square box in his jacket pocket, satisfied that he had made the right choice. When his eyes found Molly in the crowds, the box began to feel like it was burning a hole in his pocket, and he felt a rush of nervous energy. It would have to wait until the time was right though, so he calmed himself, and tried to forget about the purchase that he had made.

"There you are," Molly greeted him. "I thought you were going to be in Waterstones?"

"I had a, um, disagreement, with one of the employees," Sherlock replied with a wink, knowing that his pathologist couldn't stay mad at him for long.

"I can't leave you alone for more than five minutes!" she sighed exasperatedly, although she couldn't hide a small smile. "Anyway, I've found something, so if you come with me, you can see if you like it."

They made their way over to Mothercare, where Molly had picked out a cuddly toy rabbit. Sherlock agreed on the condition that it was named Bluebell, thankful that his ordeal was over, and that there would be no more looking at blankets, stuffed animals and picture books.

Approaching the till, they were served by a friendly lady who smiled warmly at them. "Congratulations, is it your first?" she said as she and Molly made small talk and Sherlock waited impatiently. Molly turned bright red, stammering, "Oh, no, I'm not – I mean, we're not parents. It's for my – our, goddaughter!"

Sherlock turned a bit pink too, but couldn't help imagining a little version of him or Molly running around in an over-sized lab coat holding a magnifying glass, an image which he quietly stored away in his mind palace, in a room labelled 'Molly'.

As they left the shop, Molly still red, but smiling to herself when she thought he couldn't see, Sherlock felt even more certain that he had made the right decision concerning his purchase earlier. He would spend the rest of his life with Molly Hooper; he just needed to decide when to produce the ring that currently occupied the box in his jacket.


	9. Hanging Out With Friends

_**A/N: Wow! 50 follows, and over 7000 views! Thank you so much! Please continue to review, I love reading them all :) Anyway, here's the next chapter, and like I promised, it is quite a bit longer than the last one.**_

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Waiting for Molly to finish getting ready, Sherlock stood in the hallway of 221B, checking his pocket once again, determined that everything would go to plan. Foot tapping impatiently on the floor, he looked at his watch. Sherlock had made sure that he was ready on time, knowing that John would kill him if he was late to Emma's first birthday party, but Molly was still doing whatever it was she did to get ready.

After what seemed like forever, Molly appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a pretty floral dress and mid-heels, her auburn hair gently curled. As he gazed at her, Sherlock took a moment to appreciate how lucky he was that she had waited for him, put up with all his manipulating and whining over the years, trusting that he would finally see what was right in front of him.

Then Molly spoke, breaking his quiet contemplation. "I'm sorry I took so long, are you ready to leave?"

"You are beautiful, Molly Hooper," Sherlock stated, apparently not having heard her question. Molly blushed, still occasionally surprised by this softer side of Sherlock, stopping on the bottom step, which made her the same height as Sherlock.

Being so tantalisingly close to her lips, Sherlock couldn't help but kiss her, forgetting all about being late for Emma's party. Eventually Molly pulled away, pointing out that they were already running fifteen minutes late, and they departed Baker Street together, Mrs Hudson having left earlier.

When they rung the doorbell of the Watson household, John answered, greeting them warmly and inviting them into the living room. There, they were then greeted by Mrs Hudson, Greg, Mary, Mycroft and Anthea (who was now officially his goldfish). "Unc' 'Lock!" Emma exclaimed when she saw the newcomers, waving her arms excitedly. Despite his usually rather cold demeanour, Sherlock had been proven to be good with kids, and immediately stooped to pick Emma up for a hug, even planting a kiss on her forehead. "Hello," he smiled, bouncing her gently.

Molly smiled at the sight, quickly snapping a photo on her iPhone before he could stop her, promising to send it to Mary. "Can she have her present now?" Molly asked, getting a wrapped up Bluebell out of her bag.

"Yeah, sure," John replied, slightly unsure of what Sherlock would have deemed a suitable gift for an infant, although he was reassured by the fact that Molly wouldn't have let him get their daughter anything too gruesome.

When the gift was revealed to be a glow-in-the-dark stuffed toy rabbit named Bluebell, John burst into laughter, joined by Sherlock's deep chuckle, much to the confusion of everyone else, Mycroft looking particularly displeased at being out of the loop.

Later, as Mary served homemade lemon sponge to everyone, Sherlock pulled John aside, tugging him through to the hallway. "John, I need you to tell me something. Do you think that Molly deserves better than me?" he asked, his tone serious.

"Occasionally, yes," John teased, then, realising that Sherlock was being completely serious, continued, "Seriously, though, no. She chose you, and you love one another, so you deserve her."

Then, his tone turning joking again, he added, "Blimey, I never thought I'd see Sherlock Holmes asking for advice on girls!" Then he clapped him on the back and returned to the living room, unknowingly leaving Sherlock to prepare for what he was about to do, assuming that Sherlock had just chosen an odd moment to ask for some advice.

A moment later, Sherlock took a deep breath and entered the room, striding across to where Molly was stood by the fireplace. Taking Molly's hand, he got down onto one knee, a stunned silence falling across the room. Molly blinked in surprise, her heart pounding.

After swallowing nervously, Sherlock began to speak. "Molly. I have known you for over nine years. For most of that time, I chose to ignore you and my own feelings. Then you saved my life, and as you stopped me falling, I fell for you. I recently realised that I couldn't live without you, both literally and metaphorically. So Molly, I am asking you if you will marry me, and do me the honour of becoming Molly Hooper-Holmes?" As he finished speaking, he produced from his pocket a small velvet box, and opened it, revealing a delicate, white gold ring, simply finished with a single diamond.

"Yes!" Molly exclaimed, and Sherlock placed the ring on her finger, and then stood, kissing her deeply, forgetting about all of their friends being in the room, watching.

John was the first to react, grumbling, "Trust you to steal the limelight on Emma's birthday," although he couldn't pretend to be annoyed for long, especially when he saw how happy both his friends were. Getting up, he gave Sherlock a (manly, back-slapping) hug.

Mary, Mrs Hudson and Anthea were all grinning, and crowded around Molly, congratulating her, and admiring her ring, whilst Greg followed John's example, congratulating Sherlock and hugging him. Mycroft remained seated, muttering about sentiment, but was unable to keep from glancing at Anthea slightly wistfully, picturing her wearing a simple gold band on her ring finger.

Despite his relatively calm exterior, inside, Sherlock was celebrating, relieved that Molly had agreed, as despite his confidence that she would, he had secretly been a little terrified of rejection.

Meanwhile, Molly still couldn't quite believe it, and was trying to get her head around the idea of becoming Molly Hooper-Holmes (she thought the alliteration had a nice ring to it). "He proposed!" she said to the women gathered around her, to which they all giggled, hugging her and discussing what colour the bridesmaids should wear. "Just make sure he doesn't get too into the wedding planning," Mary laughed, recalling her own wedding.

"Don't worry, I'll let him choose a suit and that's it," Molly replied, glancing at Sherlock and grinning.

"You kept that secret!" Greg said, shaking his head at the thought of _Sherlock, _of all people, getting married. "I take it John will be best man?"

"Of course, Gerald," Sherlock replied, as though Greg were an idiot for having to ask.

"That's not his name!" John exclaimed, covering his happiness at being declared Sherlock's best friend.

The celebrations continued in this manner, with Emma not being forgotten, as it was her party after all, until Mary declared it Emma's bed time, and they all said their goodbyes, Sherlock and Molly leaving last.

In the cab, Molly turned to Sherlock, still beaming as she had been all afternoon. "That was wonderful, thank you," she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

"I suppose I should ring my parents when we get in, before Mycroft tells them first. They're going to be a nightmare," Sherlock said, as though it would be an ordeal, but his eyes betrayed his delight at their engagement. At these words, Molly suddenly felt a little sad; her own parents had both died years ago, so they wouldn't see her get married, and her father wouldn't walk her down the aisle. Sherlock deduced the cause of her sudden quietness, and gave her hand a squeeze, smiling at her softly.

As predicted, when Sherlock called his parents from 221B, his mother was thrilled, scolding Sherlock for not telling her that he was going to propose, before congratulating him excitedly, and his father was quietly pleased, his smile evident in his voice.

Finally, after all the excitement of the day, Sherlock and Molly fell into bed, exhausted but ecstatic. Molly fell asleep first, and Sherlock simply lay for a moment, admiring his wife to be, and recalling his words from earlier, murmuring them quietly, so as not to wake her, although he added a word.

"You are beautiful, Molly Hooper-Holmes."


	10. With Animal Ears

_**A/N: Sorry that this chapter focuses more on Sherlock than it does on Molly, but I just couldn't resist writing some fluff about Sherlock and Emma :) Once again, thank you for all the support, and please drop me a review, they are excellent motivation ;)**_

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"I'm really sorry to have to dump her on you like this, especially on Valentine's Day," Mary said, passing Emma over to Molly in her car seat.

"It's fine, honestly. We hadn't planned anything anyway. Just enjoy your weekend in Paris," Molly reassured her, smiling at her friends.

"Thanks again for doing this," John said, as he and Mary gave Emma a final kiss goodbye before leaving for their weekend away.

Once their friends had left, Molly unstrapped Emma from her carrier, and bounced her on her hip, making her way through to their flat, which had been cleared of anything dangerous to a baby prior to the visit. Sherlock followed, looking forward to a relaxed Valentine's Day with just Molly and Emma, and no cases dragging him away.

As much as Sherlock was fascinated by Emma and her development, and always affectionate towards her, he usually let Molly entertain her, as she was better at understanding what was suitable entertainment for a one-year old, as had been proven when he had attempted to read Emma 'A Brief History of Time' by Stephen Hawking the last time they had babysat for the Watsons.

Sherlock stretched out on the sofa, simply enjoying watching his fiancé playing with Emma, although he sometimes wished they would play more intellectual games. After all, Emma didn't have much chance of progressing beyond the level of ordinary people if her parents and Auntie Molly insisted on playing ridiculous games such as "Peek-a-Boo!" with her.

They had been playing these games and reading picture books together for an hour or so when Molly's mobile rang. Handing Emma over to Sherlock, Molly answered the call, wondering if Mary had forgotten something. "Hello?"

"Hi Molly, it's Mike," the voice on the other end replied, sounding apologetic. "I'm really sorry, I know it's your day off, but Meena is off sick, so would you be able to come in and cover for a few hours, until her shift is over?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Molly sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"Thank you so much, you're a life saver," Mike answered, sounding relieved. "I'll see you in about twenty minutes."

The phone hung up, and Molly looked over at Sherlock and Emma. "I've got to go in, Meena is off sick and they need me to cover," she said. "Will you be alright looking after Emma while I'm gone? I should be back in time to do dinner."

"Yes, I can actually teach Emma something without being told she's too young to understand. Did you know that infants have the potential to be much more intelligent than we –"

"Thanks Sherlock," Molly interrupted, stopping him before he could get into his speech. "Bye bye Emma," she added, giving her goddaughter a wave and leaving the flat.

"Well now, what shall we do?" Sherlock said to Emma, considering the possibilities. "Hawking was a bit too advanced for you, I will admit, so something more your level?" Placing Emma carefully in the portable cot (he couldn't believe how much stuff one small child needed), he paced the room, thinking of ways to educate Emma so that she didn't become _ordinary_.

A piercing cry penetrated the walls of his mind palace, bringing his attention back to Emma. "What do you want now?" he exclaimed, knowing that she had been changed and fed recently. Picking his goddaughter up, he patted her back, walked up and down with her, and offered her Bluebell, but nothing stopped her crying.

With an exasperated sigh, he once more placed her in the cot, whilst he retrieved and unfolded the buggy from where it rested against the door, hoping that some fresh air would be all Emma needed to calm down. After strapping Emma into the contraption, he pulled on his Belstaff and navy scarf, slung the bag of baby things over his shoulder, and made his way carefully down the stairs.

Exiting 221B, they made their way along Baker Street, Emma still bawling, and Sherlock wondering what to do. It was then that his mobile rang, alerting him to a text. Pausing to read the message, Sherlock had an idea. Lestrade was asking for his assistance at a murder scene at a house near Waterloo station. This would provide both an opportunity to educate Emma, as well as an interesting destination for their outing.

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock was getting off the tube, grateful to escape the women who had spent the tube journey cooing over Emma and attempting to flirt with him. It only took a five minute walk from there for them to reach the crime scene, which had been cordoned off with police tape. Outside the house, Sherlock took Emma out of the pushchair and strode into the house, before any of the police outside could stop him.

When Greg Lestrade turned to greet Sherlock, he was horrified to see that Emma was accompanying Sherlock. "You can't bring a baby to a crime scene, Sherlock!"

"Why not? She isn't old enough to understand, as you all keep telling me, and it's an educational opportunity," Sherlock replied indignantly.

Seeing that he wouldn't win this argument, and aware that his chances of solving this as quickly as Sherlock were slim, Greg gave in. "Fine, but if John finds out about this, I was completely against it," he sighed.

Half an hour later, Sherlock had deduced the murderer, motive, and weapon, as well as the murderer's current location, and Emma was behaving perfectly, and had stopped crying. "I'll come and apprehend him with you," he said, rocking Emma.

"You are not chasing after a murderer with a baby, that's where I draw the line!" Greg stated, adamant that he would not have to explain to John why his baby had been involved in some sort of shoot-out.

Pouting, Sherlock realised that he had pushed his luck far enough, and departed, placing Emma in her pushchair again. Returning to Waterloo Station, Sherlock boarded a tube to South Kensington station, pushchair in tow. After enduring another journey full of fawning over Emma, he reached his intended destination – the Natural History Museum.

They spent three hours there, stopping only for Sherlock to change Emma and feed her. Although Sherlock thought they were overrated, the dinosaurs were definitely Emma's favourite part, particularly the large animatronic t-rex. Sherlock had been slightly worried that she would start crying when faced by a giant, roaring dinosaur, but instead she simply giggled, exclaiming, "Good doggy!" He was unsure whether to be impressed by her bravery, which she must have inherited from John, or appalled at her lack of knowledge concerning animals.

Their trip to the museum ended at the gift shop, with the purchase of a picture book about dinosaurs, as well as a set of donkey ears which Emma had taken a shine to.

Both exhausted, they returned home, where Sherlock attempted to put Emma to bed. Unfortunately for Sherlock, she suddenly decided that she had more energy left, and demanded to play. Getting out the bag containing the book and donkey ears, he tried to interest her in the images of various dinosaurs, but she grabbed at the ears instead and attempted to place them on Sherlock's head. "I am not wearing them," Sherlock said, gently taking the ears away. As soon he did so, Emma began to wail, and refused to stop. "Oh, for goodness sake," he sighed, and seeing no other way of getting Emma to quieten down, placed them on his head, feeling utterly ridiculous, and glad that no one could see him now.

Lying down on the sofa, Emma on his chest, he allowed her to quietly giggle at his new headgear.

Meanwhile, Molly was finally finishing up at the morgue, having ended up working a full day, instead of just covering a shift. Putting the corpse of Mr Collins away, she cleaned up, put her lab coat away and left for 221B.

Sitting in the cab on the way home, she worried herself with thoughts of all the things that could have gone wrong leaving Sherlock alone with Emma. What if he had spilt acid on her while trying to teach her about titrations? What if he had got her watching CSI?

Therefore, when she entered 221B to silence, she was surprised. She was even more surprised when she went upstairs, and saw Sherlock asleep on the sofa with Emma lying on his chest, also asleep. Then, to complete the picture, Sherlock was wearing – what were they? - donkey ears?

Grinning, she took a picture on her phone, and sent it to John and Mary. As she finished sending the text, Sherlock stirred, slowly sitting up so as not to wake Emma. Placing her in her cot, he smirked triumphantly. "I told you I could be trusted! We had a wonderful day, we went to the Natural History Museum," he said, omitting the part where Emma attended her first homicide investigation.

"It sounds wonderful," Molly smiled, standing on tip toes to give her fiance a kiss.

The domestic bliss continued until Monday, when the Watsons returned, and received an anonymous tip off from someone at Scotland Yard (Anderson), that a certain consulting detective had shown up at a murder investigation with Emma. The next day, the title of John's blog read:

**Sherlock Holmes is an Ass!**

The entry was accompanied by the photo Molly had taken, and ended with the line, "_But he is a well-meaning ass, as proved by this photographic evidence that the world's only consulting detective is also a big softie._"

When Sherlock read the entry, he was too worried about Molly's reaction to him taking Emma to a crime scene to even critique John's poor writing style.

Thankfully, the Watson's forgiveness seemed to have softened Molly, who was relatively calm about his actions, despite threatening to cut off his supply of body parts if he ever did it again.

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**_A/N: The donkey headband in question can indeed be found in the Natural History Museum Shop. If you need proof, the link is here :)_**

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	11. Wearing Kigurumis

_**A/N: Sorry for the wait, but on the plus side, my exams are over, so I can now try and do one prompt a day! :)**_

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"Aah-aah-choo!" A loud sneeze woke Molly from her sleep. Turning over in the bed, she was greeted by a sniffling, red eyed Sherlock. "Mo-Molly, I'm sorry for waking – " Sherlock mumbled pathetically, unable to finish his sentence before he began to cough loudly.

"Oh, Sherlock, you must have caught a cold from Emma when she was round at the weekend!" Molly said, getting up to fetch a box of tissues from the living room. From the bedroom, she heard a weak denial of "I'm not ill!" from Sherlock, followed by another enormous sneeze.

Returning to their bedroom, she passed him a tissue, and gently pressed a hand to his head. "Judging by the coughing, sneezing, and your very high temperature, I would say that you most definitely are ill, Sherlock," she replied, slightly shocked by just how warm he felt. "You stay in bed and I'll get you some food. What would you like?"

"Nothing, I'm on a case, I don't eat when I'm on a case," he protested, attempting to wave her away.

"Well, you are not on a case anymore, doctor's orders, so I'll get you some soup," Molly said, tucking her fiance in before he could try and get up, and heading to the kitchen to make some chicken soup.

Whilst the soup was heating up in the microwave, Molly phoned up work to say that she would not be in that day. Meanwhile, Sherlock had managed to sneak through to the living room, where he now lay on the sofa, still sniffing.

Hanging up the phone, Molly put the soup on the tray and told Sherlock to sit up and eat something. Being ill seemed to make it easier to get Sherlock to behave, and he obediently ate the soup without a fuss, clearing the bowl.

Having finished his soup, Sherlock put the bowl down, and curled up on the sofa, head in Molly's lap, allowing her to gently tug her fingers through his curls, relaxing him and making him feel rather sleepy.

After Sherlock had fallen asleep, Molly was content to sit quietly and watch him being calm and peaceful compared to usual. Little did she know what awaited her when he next awoke.

Sherlock's nap lasted about twenty minutes, until he woke, sitting up, and declaring that he felt much better. Doubtful, Molly took his temperature again, and was relieved to see that it had gone down slightly. Relieved that he seemed to be improving, Molly went and got dressed. When she returned, she felt a sense of dread as she realised that Sherlock was scratching at his arms, clearly uncomfortable.

Praying that her diagnosis was wrong, she cleared her throat. "Sherlock, have you ever had chicken pox?" Sherlock looked up at her, brow creased as he sorted through his mind palace to find the relevant data, which Molly hoped he hadn't deleted. Then he spoke. "As far as I can remember, no."

"Well then, I think I know what's wrong with you," she said, almost smiling before she realised how difficult it would be to keep the restless detective from scratching. "You obviously have chickenpox."

Sighing as he realised that her diagnosis seemed correct, Sherlock came to the same conclusion that he would be unable to stop himself from scratching. "Is there anything you can suggest to help me not to scratch?" he asked Molly, unable to find a solution himself.

"Well, there is one thing which I remember my mum doing when I got chickenpox, but I don't think you'll appreciate it," she replied, grinning.

"Just tell me so I can stop this infernal scratching!" he exclaimed impatiently, clenching his fists to stop himself from scratching.

"She made me wear a onesie, so that all my skin was covered," she revealed, laughing inside at Sherlock's horrified expression. "I'll go and get you one from Primark."

Without waiting for him to reply, she gathered her things together and prepared to leave, ignoring him begging her to think of another solution.

An hour later, the door to the flat opened, and Molly came up the stairs, holding a large brown paper bag from Primark, and looking apologetic. "There wasn't much choice, so don't get annoyed," she said, pulling something out of the bag. Sherlock simply stared at the item for a moment, then stripped out of his current pyjamas and pulled it on, clearly fed up of trying not to scratch.

Sheepishly, Molly pulled another piece of clothing out of the bag. "I saw this one, and I couldn't resist," she grinned, also changing into her new purchase, a kitten onesie.

Just as they had got comfortable on the sofa in their onesies, the doorbell rang, and they heard Mrs Hudson answer it, welcoming the guest in. Sherlock immediately deduced who it was, and he looked aghast.

Confused by Sherlock's dismay, Molly turned towards the door and saw Mycroft Holmes standing there, looking thoroughly amused by the sight of the pair. Smirking, he spoke, directing his speech at Sherlock. "I always had you down as the dragon slayer, not the dragon, brother mine."

Turning to Molly, however, he gave a rare, genuine smile. "Sister dear, I hope my brother is not being too much trouble. He always was a nightmare when he was ill." Molly smiled, and reassured him that she was ok.

Sherlock, however, already frustrated, hatched a plan to ensure that at least if he was miserable, his brother would be too. Standing, he approached his brother and gave him a hug, much to Mycroft's shock. Eyebrows raised, Mycroft stood stiffly until his brother let go and returned to lounging on the sofa. "I think you might want to check the dosage of medicine you are giving my brother, Molly," Mycroft said, still utterly confused, and left without another word, not seeing Sherlock's satisfied smirk.

As soon as she heard the front door shut, Molly rounded on Sherlock. "That was very sly, and not very nice, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Trying to give your brother chicken pox –"

Sherlock cut Molly off with a kiss, having already deduced that she had already had the disease and was therefore immune to it. "Hush, hush, Molly, Mycroft has dealt with me for almost forty years, I'm sure the irritation of chicken pox will seem minor in comparison."

When Sherlock went to move towards the bedroom, Molly stepped back. "No, Sherlock, you are ill, we are not doing this. Now go bed." Meekly, Sherlock complied, shuffling back to bed, a long red dragon's tail trailing behind him.

Smiling after her fiance, Molly picked up her phone and sent a text to Anthea.

**You have had chicken pox, haven't you? If not, avoid Mycroft for the next few days. :) - Molly**

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_**A/N: I just couldn't help myself from writing a tiny piece of Smaug!lock and some sick!Sherlock :)**_


	12. Making Out

_**A/N: As always, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews, follows, favourites and views, please keep them coming! :) Enjoy!**_

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The day was going dreadfully for Sherlock. It had begun when Molly had ruined one of his experiments after tripping over and knocking a tripod over, spilling the contents of a beaker all over the kitchen floor. This in turn had lead to him yelling at her, not realising that the acid in the beaker had burnt her hand, and therefore failing to check whether she was ok, upsetting her and causing her to storm out.

Next, he had been called to Scotland Yard, where Lestrade had berated him for not listening to Dimmock when he was doing cases for him, and threatened him with suspension from cases if his attitude didn't improve.

When Lestrade finally stopped telling him off, Sherlock skulked out of his office, snapping at John to "stop daydreaming and follow him." Now, he and John were in a cab, travelling towards the tailors where they were getting their suits fitted for Sherlock and Molly's wedding.

"Are you ok mate?" John asked, aware that his friend was on edge, and had been all morning.

"Yes," Sherlock replied shortly, pausing before continuing. "Actually, Molly and I had a fight this morning."

"Oh," John replied, unsure of how to continue. "What happened?" Sherlock proceeded to explain what had happened, sounding guilty about snapping at his fiancé.

"I'm sure she's ok now, she probably knows you didn't mean it," John reassured him, confident that Molly would have forgiven Sherlock by now.

Sherlock didn't seem much calmer when they entered the tailors, but managed to avoid insulting the tailor, instead standing relatively patiently as his suit was finished, a smart, dark grey three piece suit, which would be completed with a bow tie when Molly decided on the colour for the bridesmaids dresses. As the tailor was finishing, Sherlock's phone rang, but when he saw that it was Molly, he rejected the call, unwilling to get into an argument over the phone.

Just as he had changed back into his purple shirt and Belstaff, his phone began to ring again, the caller ID showing that this time it was Greg. "Probably only a four," he said to John, rejecting the call as he couldn't be bothered with taking on another case at the moment.

"Sherlock, we talked about this. You can't just pick and choose which cases you take," John scolded him, before giving up, aware that Sherlock taking a case he deemed boring would just cause him grief as Sherlock irritated the Yarders and showed off.

But twenty seconds later, the phone rang again. Yet again, Sherlock rejected the call, before turning his phone to silent. Then, as Sherlock and John began to walk along the road, heading towards the chip shop, the closest telephone box began to ring. Ignoring it, Sherlock continued to walk, humming something under his breath. It didn't take John long to realised that it was Mycroft calling when the next telephone box along the street began to ring too. "For God's sake Sherlock, just answer the phone!" John exclaimed, dragging his friend over to the nearest phone box.

Sighing petulantly, Sherlock picked up the phone. "Yes?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow at John. The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, startling Sherlock, who was expecting Mycroft. "Come to 23 Chelsea Gardens immediately or your precious fiancé dies," the male voice said, then hung up.

Staring at the phone for a second, Sherlock felt his chest tighten in fear, a practically unknown emotion. Then he spoke, sounding unusually vulnerable. "John. John, someone has Molly. What do I do?"

Aghast, John reeled for a moment, and then replied. "Do you know where they are? Did you recognise the voice?" Something seemed to trigger in Sherlock's brain, and he switched to detective mode, detaching himself from what was happening. "They said they were at 23 Chelsea Gardens. I didn't know them, but I estimate male, late thirties, potentially stalker hoping to gain my attention. Molly must have managed to contact Greg, that would have been why he was calling."

Scanning the map in his head for the quickest route, Sherlock took off, sprinting down side streets and squeezing through gaps, followed by John. When they arrived at Chelsea Gardens, John checked for his gun, hoping it wouldn't be needed, before Sherlock silently approached the house from the side, crouching below the wall and staying out of view.

Once they were outside number 23, sheltered by a hedge, Sherlock whispered to John. "I'll head in and distract him, and then you can shoot him. He took Molly, so I don't care whether it's fatal."

Without waiting for John to agree, Sherlock strode up to the door, and upon finding it open, walked inside.

Inside, Sherlock headed up the stairs, having deduced where Molly was already. John followed behind quietly, his army training coming into practice. Reaching the first bedroom on the left, Sherlock entered the room, and was met with the sight of Molly bound and gagged on a chair in the middle of the room, tear tracks staining her flushed cheeks. Relief flooded her eyes when she saw him, trusting him completely.

Although he too was relieved to see Molly, Sherlock was still in his isolated detective mode, and focused his attention on the kidnapper. A greasy, pale man stood next to Molly, fitting the deductions Sherlock had made after the phone call.

"You actually came! I was afraid I'd have to do something to your little pet before you turned up. I'm your biggest fan, so when I saw on Dr Watson's blog that you'd got yourself a fiancé, I couldn't stand it. But now, I can show you that she's not worthy of you –"

The man didn't finish his sentence, a shot ringing out from the doorway where John stood, gun pointed at the man, who had screamed and collapsed on the floor, a bullet having passed through his leg.

"Don't worry, you won't die, I'm a doctor and an excellent shot, so it will be non-fatal," John said, stepping forward, gun still trained on the man. As John kept watch over the man, Sherlock rushed towards Molly, untying her and smothering her with kisses, uncharacteristically affectionate, overwhelmed with relief at being reunited with her. After a minute or so, Molly gently extracted herself from Sherlock's hold, smiling at him tenderly.

"Sherlock, we can't make out, it's a crime scene," she said, looking pointedly at the wounded man who still lay groaning on the floor.

"I thought I'd lose you, and the last thing I'd ever say to you would be to tell you how useless you were," Sherlock said, passionately kissing her, ignoring her weak protests. "I love you, and I thought I'd never get to tell you that again. What if I'd gotten here too late, all because I was too stubborn to answer my phone?"

"Sherlock, it's ok, you did get here in time, I forgive you," she replied, comforting him, and he kissed her again, pressing his lips against hers and vowing to himself never to be so stupid again.

Ten minutes later, Lestrade turned up, to be greeted by Sherlock and Molly making out next to a man with a bullet wound through his leg, and John looking as if he would rather be anywhere else, holding a gun. "Why is it always you three?" he sighed, although he was secretly glad that they were all ok.

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**_A/N: Did any of you get the sneaky reference near the end? ;)_**


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